The Two Prettiest
by Fennelseed
Summary: Everyone wants Legolas and Frodo. The only place they can run is to each other. (Slash/parody) FINALLY FINISHED!
1. Default Chapter

The Two Prettiest  
(written as Frodo's journal)  
Genres: Romance, Humor, POV, Interspecies  
Disclaimer: I get no payment for this, and I neither created nor own the characters.  
Author's Notes: It's a scientific fact that Legolas and Frodo are the prettiest members of the Fellowship (*grin*), so I had to try putting them together for aesthetic reasons. (Although I know in my heart that Frodo belongs with Sam.)  
Special thanks: I owe an OBVIOUS debt of gratitude to the Very Secret Diaries.  
  
We set out from Rivendell yesterday. I am sorry to leave it behind, not only because it is cold out here, nor because I might die a gruesome death within a couple months, but because there's suddenly all this focus on me.   
  
"Poor little Frodo the Ring-bearer. No, we can't go into any civilized lands, not with the RING-BEARER along. He brings great danger on us all. Not his fault, though, poor sweet thing. Let's ruffle his hair as we walk by; he's just the right height for it. Such soft hair. So young he looks. What nice eyes you have, Frodo. Come sleep under my blankets for warmth tonight, Frodo."  
  
I kid you not. They're getting insane. Good news, though: Sam has finally stopped drooling on my collar and is now hovering around Legolas's kneecaps. You ought to hear him. "Oooh, the Elves are so pretty, Mr. Frodo, aren't they, Mr. Frodo? Legolas, sir, does your bow need polishing, sir? Tell me about Mirkwood, sir. Have you had any lovers in recent memory, sir?" Transparent, Sam, so transparent.   
  
Then the bad news: my cousins keep touching me inappropriately. "Got to stick together now, Frodo," Merry says, then pretends to twist his ankle so he can cling to my waist for the next five miles. "I'm just ever so cold," says Pippin, and then he's up against my other side, squeezing the life out of me and making really unsettling purring sounds in his throat.   
  
Oh, and Boromir--don't get me started. He seems to consider the Merry-Pippin assault on me as a peepshow. Keeps staring at us and smiling. Totally creepy. Hobbit three-way, sure; why don't you have Aragorn paint a picture of us; it'll last longer, you freak.   
  
All right, this probably isn't fair of me. It's probably just the call of the Ring. I shall endeavor to ignore my companions' faults. After all, I need their help on this mission.  
  
* * *  
  
Okay. They're sex-mad, and it isn't just the Ring. They're definitely after Legolas too. Sam isn't the only one: Aragorn's eyes go quite gooey when he looks at the Elf, and Gandalf keeps making weird comments about how he and Legolas are the oldest two in the Fellowship and should therefore have lots of things in common. Keeps hinting there was some kind of swinging sexual revolution in the Mirkwood region about a century ago. Legolas just looks at Gandalf like he's mental. Wonder if Gandalf is going senile.  
  
Meanwhile, Gimli seems to have got over his Dwarf-versus-Elf mentality, and is trying to strike up a flirtation with our fair Prince. Legolas is very polite about it, but I've noticed he retreats into cryptic statements about moonbeams and otters and stuff whenever the conversation gets too personal for him.  
  
* * *  
  
This is getting deeply uncomfortable. And I'm not talking merely of having to sleep under thorn-bushes. Aragorn must be going slightly batty through lack of sleep, for yesterday while we sat in a circle for our regular cold meal, he started expounding upon who was prettiest in the Fellowship.   
  
"Those of us who grow beards, verily we have it rough on the road," he said. "No time to shave--we are destined to look scruffy."  
  
Gimli started to make some protest about how beards were sexy and a source of pride or whatever, but Aragorn just went right on talking:  
  
"So, clearly the ones who stay the fairest of face while traveling are hobbits and Elves," he said.  
  
"Oh, Elves, Strider, definitely," Sam gushed. "Why, there's no one in the world so fair as them!" And he cast the most sickeningly infatuated look on Legolas. Legolas just smiled nervously and looked away.  
  
And then BOROMIR has to join in: "I'm not so sure, Sam. You hobbits have plenty going for you. You're short, 'tis true, but in face some of you are quite beautiful." And then--I gag to think of it--he looked at me and winked. Winked! In full view of everyone! I almost flung my dinner plate at his head.  
  
"I do agree," Aragorn said, "and I find it hard to choose, in fact. Now, of the nine of us, who would you say is fairest?"  
  
"Is this really appropriate, or necessary-" I started to say, but they all ignored me. All except Legolas, who met my eyes across the circle. A flicker of comradery bonded us for a moment.   
  
But then Gandalf had to pipe up: "I find hobbits adorable, indeed, but to me they are too much like family. I vote for our lovely Elf." He clapped a hand on Legolas's shoulder. Legolas flinched.  
  
"Nonsense!" said Merry. "Being family just makes it more special! Isn't nobody in the world prettier than our Frodo." He slung his arm around me. Apparently he had no idea how disturbing a statement that was. Neither did Pippin, who instantly threw in another vote for me, and then tumbled over so his head was in my lap.  
  
"MY family would exile me if they heard me say this," declared Gimli, "but I must say the choice is clear. The blondes have it!" And he turned and bowed to Legolas, who gave him a sickly smile.  
  
"I'm with you and Mr. Gandalf," fawned Sam. Big surprise there.  
  
"Boromir?" said Aragorn.  
  
"I think I've made my views known," Boromir said, and winked at me AGAIN. Ugh!!  
  
"What about you, Strider?" Pippin asked.  
  
Aragorn sat there examining us both--me with my cousins crawling all over me, Legolas with his motley assortment of admirers encroaching upon him--and then got up and started pacing. "I can't decide. Quit pressuring me!"  
  
Well, I'd about had it. I got up and volunteered to clean the dinner plates. Bunch of freaks, seriously.  
  
Except Legolas. They're right, he is pretty. But I wouldn't embarrass him by saying it for the whole leering Fellowship to hear.  
  
* * *  
  
A very interesting development. Soon after I'd written the previous entry, most of us lay down to sleep. It was Legolas's turn to watch, so he stayed up. Merry and Pippin of course surrounded me with their blankets, and Boromir decided he'd better lie within inches of us as well. Even in this cold weather I felt stifled, so I crawled out as soon as they were asleep, and went to sit with Legolas.  
  
He was still annoyed about the dinner conversation. "What is it, open season to seduce us?" he whispered to me. "Voting on our looks! On a quest like this!"  
  
"I know. I can't imagine what got into them," I whispered back. "I feel responsible for them. I'm sorry."  
  
"It isn't your fault," he assured. "I know this isn't how you wanted it."  
  
"No indeed."  
  
"Listen," he added, "I don't entirely trust Boromir, and if he makes any move against you--well, that's what I carry these for." Grimly he patted the arrows at his side. "Merry and Pippin don't pose much of a threat for you, I imagine. But I'll watch them too if you're worried."  
  
"No--they're silly, but they aren't dangerous," I said. "What about you, though?"  
  
He shrugged. "To me, unwanted advances are merely a nuisance. I carry nothing as valuable as your cargo."  
  
"All the same, it bothers me to see them acting this way toward you."  
  
"Why should it bother you?" he asked curiously.  
  
And in truth I had no answer. There was no reason it should.   
  
When I didn't respond, Legolas smiled and said, "Well, we'll look out for each other. Seems we can't trust anyone else, can we?"  
  
I smiled also, and agreed. I was now becoming cold and drowsy, and I shivered. Legolas noticed, and draped his cloak around me, letting my head rest against his chest. "Keep warm," he said. "I still fear sometimes for that wound of yours."  
  
"It feels much better," I murmured, but I was fast falling asleep. Something about the lovely scent of Elves makes you quite comfortable.   
  
And though I didn't mean to, I fell into slumber there, under Legolas's cloak, and slept soundly for the next three hours. I woke only when the watch changed. Aragorn was telling Legolas he could go to sleep now, and the voices awakened me. I discovered I was lying with my head in Legolas's lap. I sat up and found Aragorn watching us, smiling--but rather a tight smile, as if he both liked and disliked what he saw.  
  
Legolas was nonchalant--how I admire Elves' composure! "Thank you, Aragorn," he said. Then, to me--"To bed, Master Hobbit."  
  
And we got up and went to our separate bedrolls. Pippin immediately threw his arm over me, and Boromir's knee curled up near my neck. Legolas wrapped himself in a blanket and rested against a tree, and when I looked at him again a while later his eyes had assumed that beautiful abstractness of Elven sleep. Sam somehow had scooted closer to his legs in the meantime.   
  
I found myself wishing I could sleep encircled in Legolas's arms again. I am disturbed by these thoughts. What's next; will I start arguing with Gandalf over which feature is better, Legolas's lips or his hair? These others are corrupting me. I must not show these feelings.  
  
* * *  
  
Today I was walking along and Boromir attached himself to my side. Kept talking about how fabulous Gondor is and how much I would like it, and how they really needed to get some hobbits to live there. I was trying to be polite, but it was getting irritating. I looked over, and there was Legolas watching us, finger running up and down his bowstring. He lifted his chin a bit as a sign that he was keeping an eye on me as promised. I nodded in thanks.   
  
Unfortunately, though, looking at Legolas made me lose track of what Boromir was saying, and he felt the need to start all over again with the earliest Kings of Gondor, eleventy-thousand years ago or whatever. Ugh. Maybe we can send him to Mordor and he can bore Sauron to death.  
  
* * *  
  
Today I heard Gimli flirting with Legolas behind me--"You'd be too tall for some of our caverns, but I'd hew them out higher for you, just to make you comfortable." Sure, that will really make an Elf feel better about living in a cave.   
  
I looked over my shoulder, and Legolas met my gaze. He rolled his eyes subtly, and a smile flickered on his lips. It was the first thing to make me smile in genuine entertainment since we left Rivendell. And even now when I think of it I feel happy. Rather too happy. Deary me, if I die on this trek I hope he doesn't read this journal.  
  
* * *  
  
I can scarcely breathe as I write this. My heart pounds like the wings of a hummingbird. I am not unhealthy or unhappy--oh, quite the contrary! Still, I am most certainly foolish. Let the reader decide: here is what happened.  
  
Today, shortly after we set off (just at sunset), I was besieged by my usual admirers--Boromir, Merry, Pippin--and this time Aragorn decided to join in too. The hobbits were touchy-feely ("You look cold, Frodo; let me share this cloak with you") and the men were even more so. They wanted to carry me. In fact they would hardly take no for an answer. On another day I might have let Aragorn do it, but tonight he was kind of scaring me. He seemed to like the idea just a little too much.  
  
Thank heavens, at a crucial moment, Legolas pounced into the midst of the group, all slender rock-hard muscle, and swooped me up in one arm. Instantly my head was higher than all the rest--a fabulous view from up there!  
  
"Stay away from him, you vultures, he's mine!" said Legolas, with just enough drama in his voice that they could think he was joking. But I know he was not, for then he took off running, with me clasped against his chest. I watched over his shoulder, clinging to the straps of his pack: the others chased for a moment, then gave up. Nobody can catch Legolas, and anyway, they trust him with me. Though I daresay Aragorn wasn't happy.  
  
"Thank you, my friend," I laughed as we sailed away from them.  
  
"It is for my own sanity as well as yours," he said breathlessly, still sprinting with the speed and agility of a mountain lion.  
  
We reached an attractive grove after a few minutes, and Legolas deposited me on a boulder, laughing and breathing hard from the chase. Standing on that rock I was almost exactly at his height. I clung to his shoulders for balance--I was still laughing too. I noticed then that the last of the sunset was washing rosy colors over his hair and skin. His eyes were dark and sparkling. I have never seen anyone so beautiful, and the breath felt knocked out of me.   
  
To hide it, and yet to succumb to what I was feeling, I fell forward and hugged him. His arms slid easily around me. Our laughter quieted; the only sound we made was to breathe. I hid my cold nose in his hair, and inhaled the fragrance of his neck--ah, if only I could record that scent in these pages!, something like the spice of carnations but more magical. Then he did the same: he pressed his face between my neck and hair, and I felt his warm breath on my skin. His cheek felt cold on the surface from the winter air, but hot underneath from the exercise.  
  
And...we stayed there like that. I tightened my embrace; so did he; and we stood nestled in one another's arms for nearly a full minute.   
  
Then we let go, cleared our throats awkwardly, and agreed that we should probably go back to the others, just in case there was danger. Best to stay in large groups, and all that.  
  
When we got back we got envious glares from just about everyone. But I care not. Half a dozen times since then I have caught Legolas watching me from beneath his long eyelashes, and he hasn't looked away when I've noticed him. He has smiled, and I have felt my heart leap in fearful happiness, and I have blushed and smiled back.  
  
This is madness. I am sure of it. What could possibly come of this, after all?  
  
* * * 


	2. 2

(Chapter 2)  
  
Our fearless leaders have decided we shall climb a formidable-looking mountain called Caradhras. Gandalf says he isn't happy about this, but at least it'll give him a chance to ogle Legolas's shapely legs while Legolas is walking on top of the snow. Or something. Gimli says this is an angry mountain, and then he spent a while giving us an assortment of throat-clearing sounds to demonstrate how you say its name in Dwarf languages.   
  
I'm amazed he was able to stop staring at Legolas long enough to recognize geographical features.  
  
Am I becoming bitter and jealous? This is rather unbecoming. On the plus side, Legolas's eyes were shooting daggers at Boromir when I was getting my daily dose of Gondorian flirtation earlier today. Dare I think he feels the same?  
  
All right. I admit that I'm looking forward to watching him walk on snow too.   
  
* * *  
  
Sorry it has been so long since I last wrote.   
  
Caradhras was a REALLY BAD idea. Big, huge, colossal mistake. Seriously, I hope Aragorn gets to be King soon so he can spend more time indoors. He completely sucks as a mountaineering guide. I nearly died of frostbite, and I'm not talking just once, but more like on an hourly basis.   
  
Still...the night we were stuck under a cliff, while the snow piled up, Legolas took me onto his lap and wrapped me up in all four of his limbs, and covered us both with his cloak. This was heavenly for a few minutes. Imagine, if you will, where this placed us, anatomically, and keep in mind that Legolas wears rather thin, tight clothes. Yes indeed--I could feel contours of sacred places, pressed against my leg. It was too delicious. My own body responded--I'm almost sure he felt it, as his belly was in contact with me there, and he soon tightened his arms around me and I felt the bulge beneath me get a little firmer. His chin lowered in the snow-swirling darkness--I felt it against my forehead--and I lifted my face. My mouth bumped clumsily against his jaw; his lips brushed like a butterfly against my eyebrow. We would have kissed properly a second later--at least, I certainly would have tried--but then I felt other hobbits crawling under the cloak and snuggling up against us.  
  
It was Pippin, Sam, and Merry, whining about dying of the cold. Soon Gimli, Aragorn, Boromir, and Gandalf were making noises about protecting the hobbits, and they surrounded Legolas and me as well. Sure, they added to our warmth, but rather killed the mood. And they were getting a little too personal in their attempts to "warm" us. Really, was it necessary for Aragorn to reach in and feel our nipples in order to determine if we were too cold?  
  
"Are you trying to turn this into a nine-way, gentlemen?" snapped Legolas. But that just made them all giggle like a flock of schoolchildren. And before I knew it, Sam was on Legolas's lap with me, and was slowly edging me out. Loyal servant my arse.  
  
But it really was a treat to watch Legolas walk on snow, six feet above my head. You can see things from a whole new angle that way. I get dizzy at the thought...and I can no longer attribute it to the altitude.  
  
* * *  
  
I never thought I would love an evil, possessed cave so much. Oh, MY.  
  
We're in Moria right now, and sure, it's got its share of unpleasantries, but we're sheltered from the weather, and best of all, there are dark corners for trysts EVERYWHERE. In fact the whole place is made up of dark corners.  
  
At first this was a bad thing. My stalkers kept groping me in the darkness, and Legolas's kept groping him. We've been telling each other about it on our watches. Whenever it's my turn to watch, he stays up with me; whenever it's his turn, I stay up. And then last night--or earlier today (I can't really tell what time of day it is in here)--while Aragorn was keeping watch...mmm, I melt just thinking of it...  
  
Gandalf had trapped Legolas under his arm while he slept. Boromir had done the same with me. Our captors were asleep, but we were not, and we caught each other's eyes across the floor. At the same moment, we both wriggled free, crawled out of bed, grasped hands, and slipped away. Aragorn saw us, but he had to stay there and keep watch--nothing he could do to stop us.  
  
Legolas and I walked, carrying a small torch, commiserating with each other about our molesters, until we found a secluded bench in a hollow in the wall. Legolas set the torch on the floor beside it, then picked me up, stood me on the bench so I was at his height, and...I still tremble to recall it...pulled my body close against his. His hand slid upward, from the side of my leg to my neck, then buried itself in my hair, and he began kissing my ear.   
  
My knees nearly gave way. I clutched his shoulders, and whispered in his own language that what he was doing felt good, and that I had desired it long. He whispered back, punctuating it with licks on my neck, that he had come to love me quite without expecting to, and that he now wanted me madly. And I would have answered, but at that moment our lips met. We kissed delicately, teasingly, for several seconds, our hands squeezing one another's bodies in many places. Then he picked me up, turned, and sat down on the bench with his legs apart, placing me upon his lap so that I was straddling him. This brought vital places into contact, and, oh! How it awoke a fire in me!  
  
"This feels so naughty," he purred, "almost as if I'm toying with a child. You're so small and beautiful, and so young."  
  
This made me laugh--"Ah, that's what I love about you, Legolas," I answered. "I'm over fifty but you make me feel like a teenager."  
  
And we began to stroke one another with new frenzy, but then, unfortunately, we were interrupted by Aragorn son of bloody Arathorn, who was calling for us. We stood up, and he soon appeared around the corner. He told us we had to come back, as Gandalf was warning everyone that there might be goblins on our trail or whatever. Fine. We agreed. Aragorn started to lead us back, then stopped, turned to us, and pleaded, "Can I watch, at least?"  
  
"No!" retorted Legolas.  
  
"I don't mean an entire rendezvous," said our noble future King, "just a kiss. Come on, kiss him!"  
  
Eventually we agreed, and Legolas took me up in his arms. I wrapped my legs around him, and we kissed, awkwardly at first, but soon we stopped minding that Aragorn was there, and got a bit deeper into it. Finally Legolas put me down. My head was spinning deliciously.  
  
"Well, Aragorn?" said Legolas. "Which of us is prettier? Break the tie vote for us. Who did you envy more, Frodo or me?"  
  
Aragorn looked completely agonized. "Blast it!" he said, and turned away. "I still can't decide. Quit pressuring me!"  
  
Ah well. I'm consumed with frustrated lust as I write all this, but it is probably a good thing Strider stopped us. I wouldn't want Legolas to think I'm easy. I mean, you can't go spreading your legs just because a gorgeous blonde says "I love you." I'll give it one more date, at least.  
  
Anyway, there are many more days ahead of us in this cave, and I feel quite sure that the dark corners will bring naughtier things yet. I moan at the thought.   
  
I declare, if I had known I would be getting so much action on this trip, I wouldn't have been so reluctant to come along. If only the gentlefolk of the Shire could see me now! An Elf prince for a lover! Perhaps it wouldn't really surprise them, though. They always said we Bagginses were "rather queer." 


	3. 3

(Chapter 3)  
  
Legolas and I seem to have killed Gandalf in our passion for one another. Hm. This was not how I intended things to go.   
  
But allow me to back up a bit.  
  
Our bad day began when we all wandered into a dusty room in Moria with a tomb in it, and a lot of dead dwarves lying around on the floor. Gimli got all drama-queen about it, probably hoping Legolas would cuddle him and make him feel better, but my clever Elf was having none of it. In fact, while Gandalf distracted everyone by being a show-off and translating aloud from some moth-eaten old book, Legolas pulled me behind a pillar and we picked up where we had left off the previous night.  
  
He slid me right up the wall, so I was face to face with him, and pinned me there with his slender Elven hips. Next thing I knew his tongue was in my mouth; and did I mention he tastes like cinnamon bark? I'm not sure if he chews it when I'm not looking, or if all Elves taste pleasantly like trees, but really it's quite mouth-watering.  
  
His hands were now getting bolder. One of them had crept its way to my rear, and was squeezing it rhythmically. And he has such long hands that his fingertips were brushing me between my legs as he did this. It was nearly driving me mad, as he knew quite well. I could feel a smile on his lips, against my mouth, and when I managed to focus my vision I could see his twinkling eyes watching me.  
  
"Should I stop?" he whispered. "Would you rather hear more of Gandalf's translations?"  
  
"Stop and I'll murder you," I whispered back, and began devouring his cinnamon tongue again.  
  
Then I heard a moan--but it wasn't me, and it wasn't Legolas. (He's much too good about keeping his composure. He wouldn't moan where others might hear.) We stopped kissing and looked down, and there stood Pippin, watching us with his mouth hanging open.  
  
"Beat it, Pip-squeak," requested Legolas.  
  
"Pippin!" I said. "Can't we have a moment?"  
  
"C-c-can't I watch?" was all Pippin answered.   
  
Legolas, fast as a striking snake, whipped out his long knife and held it at Pippin's throat. "Please. Go. Away," said my Elf, in his deadliest, and dare I say sexiest, voice.  
  
Pippin took an unsteady step backward, and proceeded to knock over an entire row of skeletons, which went tumbling into apparently the deepest well known to Middle-earth, causing the loudest noise since Sauron's body exploded however many years ago, and basically killed the romantic moment.  
  
Everyone was startled. Legolas sighed and put me down. A flood of goblins came pouring through the door. General chaos ensued. "Son of a bitch," muttered Legolas--or at least, I think that's the closest Common-Tongue translation from the Elvish--and started slaughtering Orcs.  
  
How I love watching him shoot those arrows! Such precision, such grace! Pull, release, pull, release...  
  
Oops. So busy watching Legolas pull and release, I failed to notice the very large cave troll that had walked up to me. It knocked me across the room, then punched me in the chest, and I blacked out. How silly of me. Felt very foolish.  
  
I woke up when Aragorn slung me over his shoulder. The room was much quieter now, and Aragorn was saying, "Well, guess we have to find a place to bury this one."  
  
"I'm alive!" I protested. "You moron! Doesn't anyone take a pulse anymore?"  
  
Aragorn nearly dropped me in surprise, and Legolas angrily took me out of his arms. "I'll handle it, thank you very much," Legolas said, and carried me several paces away.  
  
In my ear he whispered, "I've felt your mithril when giving you a squeeze. I knew you couldn't be dead."  
  
"Clever of you," I answered.  
  
"Still," he said, "seeing you get stabbed made me angry enough to climb on that troll's head and kill it. Look."  
  
He turned me so I could see the dead hulk of cave troll lying on the floor.  
  
"Nice," I complimented.  
  
He set me on the ground, and tore open my shirt to examine me for wounds. Everyone else crowded around to have a look. (Perverts.) There was a silence and a few gasps as my mithril negligee was revealed.  
  
"Ohh, pretty," Merry sighed. "Can I touch it?"  
  
Sam elbowed his way in and gave me a grope--somewhat surprising, since I know he fancies Legolas rather than me. "Hard as nails, too!" he said.   
  
"Kinky," purred Boromir. Yuck!  
  
Legolas shoved everyone out of the way and helped me rebutton my shirt. "All right, you've had your look. Move along."  
  
"The Dwarves made that thing, you know," Gimli said. "And I've heard rumors that the Elves wear mithril garments as underpants. Is it true, Legolas?"  
  
"Yeah, is it true?" said Aragorn, curiously. His eyes darted to Legolas's crotch.  
  
"I'm not discussing my underpants with any of you," Legolas snarled. He scooped me up in his arms and pushed past Aragorn. "Move along, idiots."  
  
They started to follow. "Look, it's just that you're pretty," apologized Aragorn. "Both of you."  
  
We ignored him, and Legolas took me several paces ahead. Eventually I asked him if at least he would discuss his underpants with ME.  
  
He looked at me and lifted an eyebrow. "Better yet," he said. "I'll let you explore them a little."  
  
Well, that about did it. I gasped and got quite aroused--this with my legs straddling him, as he carried me on his hip. Clearly he felt it, for he stroked my cheek and teased, "Odd. I didn't know you were carrying TWO swords."  
  
I sputtered something incoherent, and leaned in to kiss him, but then noticed the rest of the Fellowship behind us, staring at us avidly. So I withdrew. I'm tired of putting on peepshows for them. But I did content myself with slipping a hand into Legolas's leather vest and fondling his nipple--which, I might add, was mightily hard despite his aloof appearance. And when I looked at him, he glanced at me and ran his tongue along his teeth. How I refrained from knocking his feet out from under him and squirming against him like a teenager is beyond me.  
  
But soon we were distracted yet again. An evil demon of some kind was coming up behind us. We went running across a little bridge, and waited while Gandalf rolled up his sleeves and started yelling at it. Finally he got the bridge to break, and the Balrog thingy went down.  
  
In celebration, Gandalf spun around and wrapped up Legolas in his arms for a big wet kiss. Well. Legolas was too stunned to move at first, but I was seized with a sudden jealousy--and I whipped Sting out and smacked Gandalf across the kneecaps with the flat of the blade. Gandalf shouted in pain and fell off the bridge. Legolas, wiping his mouth, stepped closer to the edge to look down. There was Gandalf, hanging on, with his feet dangling in the abyss.  
  
"Ah, your legs look so beautiful from down here, Legolas," Gandalf sighed, and reached out to fondle Legolas's ankle. But Legolas kicked his hand away, and Gandalf lost his hold. "You bitch," he sputtered, then fell into the darkness.  
  
We were nearly getting hit by arrows left and right, so we decided to leave. Aragorn had been busy fighting Orcs or whatever, and didn't see what had happened. So when he asked us "Where's Gandalf?" we were able to make up a very convincing story about the Balrog's fire-whip.  
  
I felt guilty, though. Really, I hadn't wanted to KILL anyone. But Legolas assures me that Gandalf probably isn't dead. In his words, "You can't kill those bloody wizards. I swear to Elbereth, the old buggers last forever."  
  
Then he started nibbling my neck in the shadows of the forest, and told me how sexy it had been to see me wield Sting that way. All afternoon he's been making me blush with suggestions of how he sure would like to see me pull out "Sting" in private. Oh, WHEN will we have a moment to ourselves??  
  
* * *  
  
We've made it to Lothlorien. Attractive place. Pretty Elves everywhere--but nobody prettier than Legolas. They've given me a nice bed here in some tree branches, but I'm just writing this as a way to pass the time until the others are asleep, then you can bet your arse I'm sneaking out and getting into Legolas's bed.  
  
Galadriel apparently knows that I plan to do this. Seems she's a mind-reader. Quite the party trick, that. I walk into the forest and suddenly some woman's saying in my head, "You bring great evil here." Took me a second to realize she meant the Ring and not my lustful thoughts.  
  
But she discovered those before long too. Some stuck-up Elf named Haldir took us to stand in a row in front of her, and Galadriel said a few words, then spent a while staring at each of us. "I see," she said slowly. "There is great temptation among you, and great desire."  
  
Our companions snickered and shuffled their feet, and glanced at us. Took me a great effort not to make a gagging gesture at Legolas.  
  
Then Galadriel's eyes settled on me, and I felt this probing in my head. Totally weird. I just waited it out, and suddenly her eyes went huge. "You want to do WHAT to the Prince of Mirkwood??" said her voice, inside my mind.  
  
I only shrugged. Hey, she's a mind-reader, no use trying to lie about my fantasies.  
  
Her eyes flew to Legolas, and she looked even more shocked a few seconds later. "Haldir," she finally said aloud. "Put these two in SEPARATE quarters."  
  
Bitch.  
  
All right, now Sam's snoring in the next bunk over. I'm not waiting any longer. I'm off to do my Elf, dammit.  
  
* * *  
  
Ooooh, la la. My toes are still curling. Oh, that was marvelous. Not to mention interesting! Let's recap, shall we?  
  
After writing the last entry I crept out of bed, employed my stealthy hobbit-skills in sneaking past the beds of my fellow travelers, and found the chamber they had given Legolas. (Being an Elf, he got an actual room, not just a treehouse bunk.) I knocked ever so softly, and after a few seconds he swung open the door. His room was dark except for one little candle, and in its light I could see that he was still dressed in his shirt and leggings, but had taken off his vest, coat, weapons, and boots, and was in the process of undoing his braids. I took a moment to admire his bare feet: so smooth, so slender, so little hair!  
  
He smiled upon seeing me, beckoned me in, and closed the door behind me. "Get lost on our way back from raiding the kitchen, did we?"  
  
I hopped up to sit on the edge of the bed. "That's the story I'll stick to if discovered, yes."  
  
"Hm. Almost believable. But Galadriel knows better."  
  
"So does everyone else. I don't care."  
  
"Well, your timing is excellent. I was just hoping someone could show up to help me get ready for bed." Moving in that surprisingly fast way that he has, he tackled me on the mattress. I found myself lying beneath him, kissing him repeatedly and sweetly.   
  
"I could help you," I answered, between kisses. "I would still very much like to...explore...all the layers you wear."  
  
He fell onto his back, beside me. "Then start here," he said, guiding my shaking hands to the drawstring on his shirt.   
  
I loosened the string, and then pushed the fabric up his silky skin, until his dark nipples showed, atop quite the impressive cut of chest muscle. The sight undid me; I couldn't wait, and I fell upon them, whimpering and suckling as if dying of thirst.   
  
For the first time I saw Legolas lose some of his composure. He moaned softly, and his hips twisted in a way that looked involuntary. Then he recovered, and smiled, and while I sucked his nipples he pulled his shirt off, and tossed it neatly onto the floor.  
  
"A fine start," he said. "Now you."  
  
"Me?" (My mind was a bit fuzzy at the time.)  
  
His strong hands tugged my shirttail out of the waistband of my trousers. "You." He shoved the suspenders off my shoulders and began unbuttoning my shirt with the quick precision everyone admires about him. In no time I was topless, and my shirt joined his on the floor, followed a few seconds later by the Ring on its chain, and the mithril lingerie. ("Too many associations with Gimli," Legolas said, shuddering, when he saw the mithril.)  
  
I pounced upon him and we embraced, lips locking so hard it almost hurt, skin on skin above the waist, trousers providing maddening friction below.  
  
"How I want to get into your underpants," I gasped. (Yes, I blush to write it, but that is what I said and this is, after all, for posterity.) "Mithril would not stop me."  
  
"Nor would I wear mithril on such a sensitive part," he laughed. "Think how it would chafe!"  
  
I winced. "A good point."  
  
"Besides," he purred, and rotated his hips against me. I groaned, feeling the hardness rub mine. "I daresay if there were mithril between us, you would not feel these contours so clearly. You do feel them?"  
  
"Lord, yes," I said. "I've felt them since Caradhras. Every waking moment."  
  
"And I've felt your 'Sting'. Might I...?" His nimble fingers moved toward the fastenings of my trousers.  
  
"Unsheathe?" I said, quite out of breath now.  
  
"Excellent choice of words." He made one quick move, which flipped us over so that I was lying on my back and he was kneeling above me, then pulled open my breeches and tugged them down my legs. I felt the fabric slither past my feet, and heard it land on the floor. I was now clad only in my underlinens, a dull scrap of thin fabric that was woefully inadequate in hiding my, er, true feelings for him.  
  
Legolas sighed contentedly, and lowered his head to kiss the peak that rose beneath that linen. I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out. His hand replaced his lips, and began stroking me gently, the way he might stroke the nose of a restless horse to calm it. It did quite the opposite for me, of course--I started writhing, and whispered, "For the love of mercy, Legolas..."   
  
He lay beside me, hand still petting me. "For the love of mercy what?" he asked lightly.  
  
"Can't I...before I...no, I need to see YOURS..." With all my willpower, I sat up (disrupting his hand motions), and began fumbling with the lacings of his trousers. He smiled, and was no help at all--he only spread his legs wide as if to assist me or give me room, knowing full well that it was the most distracting thing he could possibly do.  
  
Somehow I got his trousers loosened, and yanked them down with a strength that surprised both of us. "A hungry hobbit yet," he murmured.  
  
And when I had got the trousers out of the way, I crawled close and lay upon his legs, with my face near his hips, so that I could examine what he wore as an undergarment. For a moment, curiosity almost balanced my desire. The garment seemed dark in color, and covered very little (oh! What a beautiful body!), and when I ran my fingertips over it, it felt quite thin but leathery.  
  
At my touch, Legolas lost some composure for the second time. "Ai," he whispered, and following was some slurred phrase of Elvish that I didn't understand, but from the tone of voice it was probably something quite dirty.  
  
"What is this?" I asked, exploring the texture of his underwear.  
  
"Calatherienoraniluravawenadel," he answered--or something like that, anyway. It was about eighteen syllables long, one of those Elvish botanical words that you can't possibly pronounce or remember when your mind is clouded with lust.   
  
"Pardon?" I said--for, really, what else could one say?  
  
He repeated it in a cascade of melodious tongue-twists, then translated, "Underpants leaf. A special leaf that we use just for this purpose. Makes a fine, warm, soft fabric."  
  
"Mm. It smells nice, too." I tickled his bulge with my nose, enjoying the way he groaned. "Or is that just you?"  
  
"No," he breathed. "It's...edible."  
  
"Edible??" The finest word in the language to a hobbit!  
  
"Yes. Feel free...if you're still hungry..."  
  
"Oh, what do you mean IF!" I seized his finely-muscled waist in both hands, and tore away a scrap of the underpants-leaf with my teeth, just above his pelvic bone. I held the scrap in my mouth for a moment, and it began to dissolve on my tongue. It tasted quite pleasant, like tea with a sweet-and-salty overtone, with a hint of the spices that Legolas always tasted of--cinnamon and clove and indescribable Elven sweetness. I swallowed the dissolved leaf, and wriggled up closer for another mouthful.  
  
This time I tore off a much larger swath, which I had to chew before swallowing. It almost uncovered him--I could see golden hairs glinting in the candlelight. Combining food with sex; could this get any better? One of his legs was pressed against my groin, and I squirmed against it as I savored the taste in my mouth.  
  
"Ah...Frodo," he moaned.  
  
"Do you want to taste?" I offered, and delicately pulled off another piece with my teeth, from lower between his legs. A very private fold of flesh was now visible, and I stroked it with my knuckle.  
  
He jolted at my touch, then laughed breathlessly. "I've tried it. Many times. I want to taste...you..." And, impatient at my nibbles, he reached down and hauled me up beside him, and slipped his tongue into my wet mouth.   
  
His hand was back at my linen, but not so slow or so gentle this time. I quite forgot about food, and began moving my hips in harmony with his strokes. Indeed, I could not have stayed still if I had tried. "Oh," I said, into his open mouth, "why don't you..."  
  
"Why don't I what?"  
  
I started wriggling to get out of my underwear, which had become quite confining.  
  
"Ah," he chuckled. "Allow me." And in a few seconds he had unsheathed me entirely, and I lay there naked beside him. "Indeed, quite the Sting," he murmured, returning to kiss my neck, his hand wrapping around me.  
  
I would write down what I answered, but I was becoming quite incoherent by then. I can scarcely remember a time when I wanted anyone or anything so badly. I turned my hungry and barely-focused eyes downward, and found that the torn underpants-leaf had slipped, and no longer covered him. Ah! Long and slender was this elf in more ways than one. I moaned against his neck, wishing my arm was long enough to reach him.  
  
"If we're almost ready, then perhaps..." he said, and sat up carefully. Sitting with his legs apart, so I could see him in the candlelight, and making damned sure I was watching (as if I would look anywhere else!), he slowly peeled away another section of his edible undergarment, and then leaned down and draped it over me.  
  
"Legolas, what are you..."  
  
"What do you think," he murmured, and then fell upon his elbows at my waist, and took me into his mouth, and I felt the leaf dissolve all around me and grow slick against his warm tongue--and, ah, I do not think I lasted more than ten seconds after that. (Again, I must admit this for accuracy and posterity.) I shuddered with a cry which I muffled by biting my fist, and it was quite some time before the waves ceased to crash over me.  
  
Lithe as always, he slid up and lay beside me, cradling me against his nearly-naked form. The heat and underpants-leaf between his legs brushed my thigh.  
  
"I see," I panted, "why you didn't want to discuss them with anyone."  
  
"Can you imagine?" he said. "If they found out they were edible?"  
  
I giggled. "Gimli's just the right height, too."  
  
"Shut up," he said, smiling. "Besides, so are you."  
  
"Very true." I began crawling south on his body. "And I intend to make good use of that fact."  
  
I won't say it was easy, a little person like me getting all of that--or even half of it--into my mouth. But if something tastes good, when has stuffing one's mouth ever been a problem for a hobbit? And allow me to tell you, Legolas wrapped in Cara-thara-vara-whatever leaf is one of the finest delicacies on Middle-earth.  
  
How I loved every moment of it! The deadly Prince of Mirkwood, an immortal Elf, a golden being thousands of years old (he claims he's lost count, the coy lad), completely vulnerable for ME--a hobbit, lowly Frodo Baggins of Bag End! Not only vulnerable but begging for more, in fact! I know we had done our best to keep our stalkers away, but now I almost wished someone could be there to see it. Truly a Great Moment in my life.  
  
Well, he lasted barely longer than me. And you'll be interested to know that Elves taste SWEET, not salty. Or at least this one does.   
  
Still breathing hard, he pulled me up and hugged me against his chest. We were lying there quite happily, and beginning to murmur that we could probably have another go before dawn, when his door swung open and there stood Haldir, fully dressed, gazing impassively at us.  
  
I jumped like a panicked squirrel, of course, and started grabbing for clothes to hide myself, but Legolas just lay there naked, stretched out and majestic, and said coldly, "Ever knock, Haldir?"  
  
"Sorry," said Haldir, just as cold. "I'd heard you were an asshole, but hadn't heard you were also a slut. You're to come to a meeting; Galadriel's orders. Now."  
  
"What could possibly be so important?" Legolas asked, still not making a move to cover himself, as if he were wearing velvet robes in a throne room, instead of a scrap of underpants-leaf in a bed-chamber (with a frantically embarrassed hobbit skittering about beside him).  
  
"Oh, I don't know; a small trifle of jewelry you call the One Ring, perhaps?" Haldir answered.  
  
"Then what could be more important than tending to the needs of the one who carries it?" Legolas answered. He reached over and stroked my hair.  
  
"Very amusing. You will come with me NOW." Haldir clicked his heels and pranced off.  
  
Legolas grumbled, sat up, and started putting his clothes back on. "I suppose I'd better go," he said. "But I will most certainly return to taste you again. Stay right here." He kissed me, then jumped up from the bed and left, muttering in Elvish--about what, I'm not sure; but as far as I could tell, it involved a complex relationship between Haldir, Haldir's mother, and a goat.  
  
I was sorry to see him go, but I was also very tired after the day's exertions. So I blew out the candle, slipped under his sheets, and closed my eyes.  
  
* * *  
  
Still in Lothlorien. Fell asleep on my journal while writing that long account, and woke up with ink stains on my face. Probably had the phrase "underpants-leaf" imprinted in mirror-image on my cheek. Must be more careful about this kind of thing.  
  
Today I got invited to look into this pond/mirror/birdbath thingy of Galadriel's. She insisted I do it. I thought maybe I had a strand of hair sticking up that was bothering her, but it turns out this birdbath is not really a mirror but more like a special showing of all your personal nightmares. Great.  
  
I saw me and the Prince of Mirkwood getting it on in every corner of Middle-earth, and meanwhile other people kept trying to join in, and we kept killing them. Most alarming.   
  
"I know what it is you saw," she said, "for it is in my mind also."  
  
She thinks about us that way? Gross. Swear to Elbereth, I'm surrounded by perverts.  
  
Must admit, though, I'm having doubts about the wisdom of this relationship. He's hot, yes, he loves me, yes, but is that really worth destroying the world?  
  
What am I talking about. Of course it is.  
  
* * * 


	4. 4

(Chapter 4)  
  
We have left Lothlorien and have spent a few days paddling down a dull old river. Aragorn, the big meanie, has made Legolas and me ride in separate boats. I have nothing to do all day but feel Aragorn's eyes on my arse, and listen to Sam's musing about what Legolas looks like naked. Cruel world. This is torture.   
  
Meanwhile Legolas is stuck in a boat with Gimli, who keeps making suggestive comments about how they should braid each other's hair. Noticed him eyeing Celeborn in Lothlorien, too. Gimli is obviously President of new Elf Fetish Fan Club. Not that I should talk, I guess.  
  
* * *  
  
I have GOT to get away from these others. Just get a load of what happened last night.  
  
We were in camp. I had sneaked into Legolas's blankets when everyone else was asleep, and we'd had a lovely time playing with one another, though it was rather cramped under the bushes there, and it was difficult to be quiet.   
  
Anyway. He got up to take over the watch, and I fell asleep. I awoke in the pitch-black darkness some time later, because he was lying beside me and his hand was under the blankets, stroking me again. I sighed in pleasure and turned to kiss him. Our faces clumsily found one another, and our lips and tongues latched into a delicious tangle. It seemed hotter even than our previous sessions, yet different somehow. As I grew more conscious, I realized that he smelled different too--more like sweet oats, a homey familiar smell, and not at all like magical Elven spices. I lifted my hand to touch his hair, and found--curls! Short curls!  
  
I jumped and whispered, "Sam?"  
  
His hands and lips leaped away from me. "Mr. Frodo?" he said, clearly shocked.  
  
We sat there breathing in panic for a moment, then I relaxed and smiled in the dark. "Sam," I repeated, in a nicer tone this time. After all, what he had been doing felt VERY good.  
  
"Mr. Frodo," he echoed, sounding rather impressed himself.  
  
"Samwise, you rogue," I said, "who were you after? Me or Legolas?"  
  
"Well, these are his blankets, aren't they?" he sputtered.  
  
"Indeed they are," I purred.  
  
"Then I might ask you what YOU'RE doing," he responded. "Sleeping here under 'em, without a stitch on!"  
  
"Yes, well, he invited me."  
  
"Did he?" I felt Sam crawl a little closer. "You mean--you and Legolas... really...?"  
  
"Quite so. Not that it's any of your business."  
  
"What's it like?" Sam asked, sounding fascinated. "What's HE like?"  
  
"Now, Sam. I don't kiss and tell."  
  
"That's a lie and you know it, Mr. Frodo. What's he like? Come now; your Sam won't tell a soul."  
  
"Well, work it out for yourself. Would I still be here, completely naked in his bed, if it hadn't been fabulous?"  
  
Sam sighed. "I don't usually envy you, Mr. Frodo, honest I don't. But tonight I wish I was you, more than anything else."  
  
"Anyone would," I agreed. Then suddenly I laughed. "But what were you DOING? You really thought you could come over here and fondle him in his sleep, and not get your head cut off?"  
  
"Well, it was worth a try," Sam mumbled.  
  
"He's on watch right now, you idiot. And furthermore," I added, still laughing, "why didn't you realize it was me? Or at least, NOT Legolas. Surely you could tell that what you were touching was not, um, of Elven proportions."  
  
"I couldn't think straight," he defended. "I was out of my mind, like, wanting it so badly. And besides...you're...well..."  
  
"I'm what, Sam?"  
  
"You're much bigger than I suspected," he muttered.  
  
I have to admit that this was rather exciting to hear. "Why, thank you," I said. I lay there thoughtfully for a while, and Sam sighed and lay on his back beside me.   
  
Eventually he whispered, "What did you do, exactly?"  
  
"What do you think, silly?"  
  
"I know, but--how did you do it, like? I hear stories about how there's lots of ways, for a pair of fellows..."  
  
"Well..." I sighed dreamily. "Did you know the Elves wear edible underwear?"  
  
"Edible!"  
  
"Edible. Of course you mustn't tell anyone, Sam. I'll never speak to you again if you do."  
  
"I wouldn't, but--oh, Frodo, now you're pulling my leg. Edible underwear, I'm sure!"  
  
I felt around under the blankets till I found a leftover scrap of underpants-leaf, then reached over and tickled Sam's face with it. "Try it yourself, skeptic."  
  
Sam, always willing to eat just about anything, grabbed it from me and sniffed at it. "It does smell of him," he observed. I heard him take a bite and chew on it. "Oh, now, that's heavenly! If you mean he really wears this down THERE..."  
  
"He does."  
  
"Now there's materials for sweet dreams," Sam sighed.  
  
I agreed, and we lapsed silent. I did consider turning on my side and kissing him a little more, since I was still in that kind of mood and apparently my faithful servant was quite good at it (who knew?), but I decided to save myself for Legolas. Besides, I was drowsy, and before I knew it I was falling asleep again. Sam didn't say another word. He must have fallen asleep too.  
  
But after a time I was awoken once more, this time by a flare of light. I shielded my eyes, and peered through my fingers: Legolas was beside us, and had just struck a match. He was staring in confusion at Sam, who was sitting up and pleading not to have his head cut off.  
  
"What happened?" I mumbled sleepily.  
  
"Terribly sorry," Legolas was saying to Sam, in a rather formal voice. "Wrong hobbit."  
  
"I woke up in the dark and he was kissing me," Sam explained to me.  
  
"I thought it was you, of course, Frodo," Legolas added. "He tasted like the leaf. And I didn't quite expect him to be in my bed."  
  
Sam begged, "I never meant to trick you, Legolas, sir, honest I didn't! I was talking to Mr. Frodo here, and fell asleep, that's all."  
  
"Well, was it good, at least?" I asked, and when they both looked at me in surprise I fell over giggling.  
  
To make a long story short, we sorted out what had happened, and Legolas eventually admitted that Sam was almost as tasty as me (but not as pretty, he told me later, when we were alone) and that the whole thing was rather funny when you thought about it. We sent Sam back to his own bed, but in return for keeping the secret about the underpants-leaf (and everything else he had found out), we each had to kiss him again. I was rather flattered that he asked me--surely he was only being polite, since it's Legolas he really wants?   
  
But then I suppose Sam did lust after me for several years there, back in the Shire, before he set eyes upon the Elves. Old habits may indeed die hard.  
  
Quite hard in Sam's case. Ahem.  
  
* * *  
  
Forgive me if tearstains smear the ink in this entry. My prince has left me, alas! I'm alone with Sam and we're on the outskirts of Mordor and I'll probably die in some horrid way by next Wednesday, and now I'm sniveling like a little girl, and-- and everything sucks.  
  
So here's what happened.  
  
I went out in the forest to meet Legolas today. I got to our pre-appointed spot, but instead of Legolas, there was Boromir--probably followed me. Anyway, he started flirting with me, as usual, but this time got really insistent. Couldn't get the mithril negligee out of his mind, he said. Wanted to touch it, he said. I said no; he called me a tease; I said "no means no"; and we got in a big fight--ended up rolling around in the leaves, which I daresay he secretly enjoyed.  
  
Suddenly this arrow shot into his side, and he fell off me, onto the ground, gasping in pain. Legolas strode up, bow still quivering.   
  
"You okay?" he asked me.  
  
"Yes, just a little scuffed up." Legolas helped me to my feet, and we looked down at Boromir, who was trying to speak. "You actually shot a member of the Fellowship for me," I said. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."  
  
"Well, I said I would, if he ever tried anything." Legolas shrugged. "At least I used an Orc arrow. No one can trace it to me."  
  
I bit my lip. "Legolas, I think maybe this wasn't a good idea..."  
  
"I know. We're getting destructive, my sweet. Listen. I've been meaning to tell you this, and now seems a good time." He knelt down in front of me. "Consider this my last favor to you, at least for a while." (By the "favor" he meant using Boromir as an archery bulls-eye.) "We can't get anything done when we're together, and in fact we have a tendency to injure people. I have to let you go. I'm sorry, but that's just the only way we can save the world." He laid his hand on my chest, where the Ring hung under my shirt. "Give me a call when you've got rid of this little trinket."  
  
I wept, I begged, I offered to wear any kinky thing he wanted me to, but it was all to no avail. The heartless bastard had turned back into High and Mighty Impassive Elf-Boy. He gave me a formal kiss on the cheek, and then a bunch of Orcs came pouring over the mountainside, so he sent me away. That was the last I saw of him. I hope he's still alive.  
  
No I don't. I hate him. I hope the Orcs killed him and ate him for dinner.  
  
All right, I don't mean that.  
  
But anyway, he had a point, so I ran down the hill and jumped into one of our boats and took off. Well, it turns out he had done me one more favor: behind me came Sam, splashing about and bellowing like a water buffalo, shouting that he wanted to come with me.  
  
By now I was so incredibly tired of everybody, I was tempted to let the fool drown. But that would have been yet another member of the Fellowship killed by my deadly attractiveness, and I didn't want it on my conscience. So I hauled him into the boat and took him with me.  
  
That's when he told me that he had tried to follow Legolas instead, but Legolas had said, "If you care for me, then go protect Frodo. If you help him destroy the Ring, and get him back alive, I promise I'll give you a hundred kisses." Naturally Sam thought this was well worth the risk of dying in Mordor. And I have to admit it was very sweet of Legolas, to send someone to protect me.  
  
Now I'm sniffling and blubbering like an angsty tweenager. I suppose I should stop writing about that Elf. Damn him for being so pretty and so perfect and so mean and so nice all at once.   
  
Sam says he wants a word with me, anyway, so I'll go see what he could possibly have to say.  
  
* * *  
  
Hmm. Sam says as we'll be spending a lot of time together in the dark, and eating mostly elf-cookies, and will both be very lonely and "missin' Mr. Legolas somethin' awful," perhaps we should just pretend we're with him. "You can pretend I'm him, and I can pretend YOU'RE him," he said. "We can just close our eyes and imagine, like."   
  
He demonstrated by giving me a lembas-flavored kiss, and I must say it raised my spirits. Remember that Sam is, unaccountably, very skilled at this.  
  
You know what else I like about Sam? He admits openly that Legolas is prettier than me. But he wants to kiss me anyway. Granted, there's no one else here to kiss (I don't think we should count Gollum), but still, he could have opted for celibacy.  
  
So I've agreed to try out his suggestion. Maybe by the time we get back from Mordor, I'll be thinking of Sam when I kiss Legolas hello again.   
  
That would serve the pretty-boy right.  
  
* * *  
  
(Author's note: More to come...someday...) 


	5. 5 Legolas's diary

Journal of Legolas Greenleaf  
(Keep out, you filthy mortals.)  
  
I suppose writing this in Sindarin will not keep Aragorn (hereafter referred to as "Telcontwhore") from being able to read it. I do not care, particularly. Frodo said keeping a journal made him feel better, gave him a place to "vent" - even though he was always too shy to let me read it, dear little thing - so I've decided to try it too. Perhaps it will help me.  
  
For, trust me, there are plenty of things I could vent about. Where do I start?  
  
Gimli still wants me; nothing new there. And now we have to share a horse. Can you believe? I tried to keep count of the number of times he has "accidentally" touched my thighs or my arse or my package while clinging to me from behind, but I lost track somewhere in the twenties. You have no idea how tempting it is to elbow him in the head and "accidentally" send him tumbling down the mountainside. But my prettiness has caused enough trouble in the Fellowship already. I shall refrain.  
  
Aragorn isn't making things any easier. Now that Frodo's gone, his mind seems made up: I'm his sweet little bitch and he's trying to get some sugar every time I turn around. If he grips my shoulder lovingly one more time, I might have to knee him in the nuts.  
  
I know that wouldn't be a good idea, politically speaking - him being the future King and all. Hardly Princely behavior on my part, either. And, you know, it's possible, just possible, that Aragorn can lead us to a miraculous victory over Sauron and we can bring Frodo home safely and I can beg my handsome hobbit's forgiveness and we'll have hot sex until the sun comes up, and life will be a song.   
  
Yeah, right. If I really wanted to help Frodo, I should have gone with him myself. I mean, what the fuck is that useless blob Samwise supposed to do? I am such an idiot. We are so screwed.  
  
* * *  
  
Oh joy. Gandalf is back. Yet another one of my molesters. I knew he probably wasn't dead, but why the hell does he have to show up and hang around with MY group? Seems he's forgiven me for kicking him off the bridge in Moria - in fact, he's started flirting with me again like nothing ever happened.  
  
"Are those new braids, Legolas? No? Well, they're quite attractive. Who does those for you? You do them yourself? Real-ly! How in-teresting! You must be very FLEX-ible." I wasn't born just last century, wizard-perv. Yes, I can, a) braid my own hair, and b) see right through your extremely gross innuendos.  
  
I can't even enjoy this forest. When was the last time I couldn't enjoy a forest? Leave it to Aragorn to drag us into the darkest, meanest, ugliest, most stifling collection of trees on the planet.  
  
Oh, and here's the quote of the day from Gimli: "I know how you feel about hobbits, Master Elf - or at least one hobbit in particular." (I didn't dignify that with an answer.) "I'm not so different from them, you know," he says. "At least, when the lights are out." And then he prods me in the hip with his axe, and laughs in this horrible lecherous way.  
  
I wonder if my father would be overly disappointed if I shot myself in the head with an arrow.  
  
I wonder if it's even possible to shoot yourself in the head with an arrow. Hmm. Well, if there's anyone who can do it, I'm sure it's me.  
  
* * *  
  
UGH. We're in Edoras now, and Aragorn has this hot Rohirrim princess chickie drooling all over him, but he STILL only has eyes for me. I wonder if he's trying to let her down easy by pretending to be gay or something, instead of just admitting he's engaged. Well, that's a fine strategy, but I don't really feel like playing the part of King-boy's lover, thank you very much.   
  
All the Rohirrim people think that's what I am, too. I've seen how they look at us and snicker. It's infuriating. I mean, if everyone thinks you're sleeping with someone, you should at least actually get to sleep with them.  
  
I say that only because I need to get laid. I don't actually want to do Aragorn.  
  
Well, sometimes I do. But then I imagine that stubble scraping across my face, and - yeeeick.   
  
I wish Frodo were here. He has the softest skin...   
  
Sigh.  
  
* * *  
  
Holy fuck. We WON?? Ten thousand Orcs and Uruk-Hai with frickin' DYNAMITE, against like four dozen of us, and we WON??  
  
I'd be happier about this, it's just...okay, here's what I did.  
  
Early this morning we're in the back room at Helm's Deep, right? Orcs are banging on the door with battering rams. Aragorn and Theoden and Gimli and a bunch of useless Men are standing around, saying, "Yep, that's it, we're going to die." Well, duh. I told them that the night before. Still, it was sort of sad and all - not for myself really; I've led a good life, which has been approximately four hundred times longer than any of theirs - but for their pitiful lifespans to be snuffed out so soon made me feel a little sorry for them. A little.  
  
So when Aragorn catches my eye, looking all defeated and regretful and noble, I make the mistake of giving him the Elven love-and-condolences-and-forgiveness gesture, and next thing I know he's striding across the room and hauling me into a coat closet.   
  
"Shall not we have a moment of tenderness before going to our doom?" he says. (His syntax is rather cute sometimes.)  
  
"What do you want me to do?" I ask, suspiciously.  
  
"Only a kiss, Legolas. You are by far the prettiest, I swear upon it."  
  
"You're just saying that because Frodo's not here and you'll probably never see him again," I say.   
  
"Legolas..." he says; he's breathing on my neck now. "Let us not fight over trifles here, now, at the end of all things." (I'm certain he stole that line from somewhere, by the way; I just can't remember where.)  
  
"All you want is a kiss?" I say.  
  
"I swear," he says.  
  
So, okay. Fine. I kissed Aragorn. Once. Well, one kiss that kind of lasted for two or three minutes. Look, I said I was hard-up; and I thought I was about to DIE, okay?  
  
But, fucking hell. We're alive. Gandalf and Eomer showed up and we won.   
  
Fortunately, Sauron is not done with us and I might get killed in the next battle, if I'm lucky. Ideally Aragorn will get killed too so he can't go around bragging about this.  
  
I feel so cheap. If Frodo survives his Mordor trip, I hope he forgives me. Even though he's probably busy making out with Samwise as we speak.   
  
I hate life so much right now.   
  
* * *  
  
I feel better today. Apparently I am very brave compared to the average Man or Dwarf. Not that this is news, but hey, I needed a self-esteem boost.  
  
Our band of loyal warriors decided to follow this old prophecy and take the fast route to Minas Tirith - which is, namely, the Paths of the Dead. Oooh, spooky! Heh heh. You should've seen Gimli and the Men quivering and crying like little babies. What losers. Like ghosts can hurt you. What, just because nobody who's ever gone into these tunnels has ever been seen again, they're afraid? Silly kids.  
  
Anyway, nothing came of it, except Gimli grabbed my thighs in the dark for moral support rather more often than usual. Blech.  
  
I wonder if Frodo would have been afraid, if he had been with us. I almost like to think he would, because it would be so delightful to carry him and cuddle him and soothe him with Sindarin sweet nothings while we walked through the darkness. Mmm...I daresay we wouldn't have got a lot of walking done, in fact.  
  
Drat. I shouldn't have mentioned him. Now I miss him and want to cry, but as a general rule I don't cry in front of any living being. (I guess half our army is now, technically, composed of ghosts, but the other half is still alive, so...dammit.)   
  
Think happy thoughts, Legolas old boy...happy thoughts...  
  
* * *  
  
Bloody hell. Seems Eomer wants me too. I sort of suspected it in the Riddermark - I mean, please, the man was practically undressing me with his eyes - but that only lasted a few minutes and then he was gone, thankfully. Now I'm stuck in an army with him and the drama just continues to escalate. (Oh, yeah, we were victorious over the Dark Lord's forces again, by the way.) So, recap of today's attempted molestations:  
  
After we made our stylish entry into Minas Tirith on the Black Ships, Eomer came strutting over to say howdy-do. Gave Aragorn a big manly hug, then tried to give me one too. I was about to "accidentally" stab him in the thigh with a knife, but Aragorn stepped in between us with some hilariously dumb excuse like:  
  
"Nay, Eomer: thank him only from a distance. The fair folk do not like to be touched in such ways."  
  
I would have made some sarcastic reply, but Eomer actually beat me to it. "Oh, really?" he said. "I've seen YOU touch him in such ways. Don't be possessive, Aragorn; stand aside."  
  
"I was here first," said Aragorn.  
  
"You already have one elf; give over," said Eomer.  
  
"Do I get a say in this?" I asked. "Because, if so, I'd like to say that anyone who tries to hug me today will get his gauntlets stuffed down his throat."  
  
They looked kind of sheepish, and muttered, "Sorry." I stomped away, and immediately I heard them bickering over me again. "Stay away from him!" "I was just looking! Can't I look?" "No! And don't touch Frodo either!" "Who the hell is Frodo?"  
  
Freaks. By the way, I hate this city. Everywhere I go, I'm stared at and drooled over. If one more person tells me I'm "fair of face beyond the measure of Men," I'm going to punch their lights out.  
  
* * *  
  
Oh, dear. I'm actually nervous. When was the last time this happened?  
  
We're about to leave for Mordor. Yeah, Mordor. Where Frodo is. Technically the plan is to draw Sauron's forces out and distract him so Frodo can get the Ring destroyed and all that, but what if we run into each other? Frodo and me, I mean. Last time I saw him I had just sent him away, and he was in tears, and I felt awful, but it was for the best. Did he understand? Has he forgiven me? Will he even speak to me? Does my hair look okay?  
  
I hate it when I'm like this. I haven't been like this for...wow...I'd say about two thousand seven hundred and eighteen years.   
  
Well, anyway, wish me luck.  
  
* * * 


	6. 6 Back to Frodo

(Frodo's diary)  
  
Ew, ew, ew, gross, gross, gross.  
  
I want to die. Not only have we been crawling through stinking mud for two days. Not only does Sam keep asking me to talk only in Elvish when we kiss. Not only am I carrying the bloody Ring of bloody Sauron to Mount Doom where I will undoubtedly get raped by Orcs and die in disgrace. No, not only that! Now Gollum has decided he finds me pretty, too.  
  
I try to tell myself he's just after the Ring, but then why was he licking the tip of my ear when I woke up this morning? Why was he running his slimy hand up my knee? Why was he saying to himself, "We likesss this one, Precious, we wantsss to kiss it"?  
  
Ew, ick, ew, gag, YUCK.   
  
I've told him if he tries something like that again, I'll put the Ring on and command him to stick his own head up his arse and he will have to obey, so he "ssswore on the Precioussss" that he'd behave.  
  
Not bloody likely, given everyone else's behavior once they've decided to have a crush on me. To think, Boromir used to disgust me. I would gladly welcome Boromir back right now if it meant getting rid of Gollum. I cannot write any further about this tonight if I want to keep my dinner down. Gross. That's all. Gross.  
  
* * *  
  
Well. Be careful what you wish for. I said I would rather have Boromir back, and lo and behold, who shows up but Boromir's very own baby brother? And here's something you'll just be astonished to learn: fluffy little Faramir thinks I'm pretty! Yeah, big shock. Must run in the family.  
  
He and his fellow Gondorians found us in the forest, in Ithilien. Sam and I didn't hear them coming because, I regret to say, we were having something of a lovers' quarrel at the moment. It started out when we were involved in one of our rather lackluster make-out sessions after lunch, and he kept insisting, "Elvish, sir; say something in Elvish."  
  
"Sindarin or Quenya?" I snapped, rather irritably.  
  
"Makes no difference to me; I can't tell 'em apart," he said.  
  
I shoved him away, and started pacing. "I know you can't," I grumbled. I hate to admit it, but I was thinking about Legolas again. Legolas would have known the difference; and what's more, he would have been able to say the naughtiest, dirtiest things in either language. And he would have taught me how to say them too. How I miss him...  
  
"Look, Sam," I said. "There's no point in our kissing each other. You don't really want me, you want Legolas--or maybe Rosie Cotton." (Heaven knows he's yapped about HER enough on this trip, too.)   
  
"And you still want him, as well," Sam returned. "As if you're actually going to get back together with him. Fat chance, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon." Word to the wise: don't let your servants get kissed by Elven princes. They just lose all respect and start mouthing off to you.  
  
I was in the process of calling him something rude in Quenya, just because I knew he wouldn't understand it, when Faramir and his band of merry men jumped out of the bushes and seized us.   
  
We explained who we were, and Faramir walked around us, looked us up and down, then sat down in front of me and just gazed dreamily into my eyes. He looked so blissed out I wondered if he'd been eating hallucinogenic mushrooms or something. Then he said, "I've heard of Halflings. But you, I think, are taller than some."  
  
"Yes, yes, and fairer than most," Sam said impatiently. "That's what everyone says. Don't go tellin' him he's pretty; it goes straight to his head."  
  
"But a pretty head it is," said Faramir, and reached out and tousled the hair on my oh-so-pretty head. "I would be lying if I claimed otherwise. You know what I'd like to do?"  
  
"What?" I asked, extremely suspicious.  
  
"Blindfold you," he purred. Oh, joy--he's kinky on top of everything else.  
  
But, as we were threatened by approximately three hundred archers, we let them blindfold us and take us away. Now we're in their cave hideout, which is damp and chilly and reminds me of Moria, and it's making me nostalgic. The place Legolas and I confessed our love for one another... Was that only a few weeks ago? It seems ages now. Ah, how life changes. And seldom for the better.  
  
I guess I shouldn't whine. I've tasted the underpants of an Elven prince; how many hobbits my age can say the same? In fact, how many hobbits of ANY age can say the same?  
  
Doesn't change that my life rather sucks at the moment.   
  
Now Faramir is bringing me wine and offering to give me a foot massage. Time to find a tactful way to get the hell out of here.  
  
* * *  
  
I do not think I can emphasize how bad the past several days have been. Granted, I guess no one expects a picnic when they're vacationing in Mordor. But I think I have a right to complain rather loudly on this one.  
  
Okay, first things first: there was this really big spider. No, I don't think you understand: I mean REALLY BIG. I'm not talking about those spiders back in the Shire, the ones that would sometimes skitter out from under the woodpile and make me yelp, the ones I used to smack with sticks.   
  
This spider would not have FIT in the woodpile in Bag End. In fact, this spider probably has its own area code. Long story short: one minute I'm running for my freaking life; next thing I know I'm waking up in a stone room with torches, and I'm naked and an Orc is fondling my nipples.  
  
When I told him I didn't feel that way about people whose breath smells like a dead skunk, he got a wee bit angry and gave me a few whip-lashes. I was about to tell him I wasn't into S&M, either, but then Samwise decided to show up and kill him.  
  
I regret to say we got into another argument at that point. I accused Sam of letting the spider get me so he could go claim Legolas for his own.   
  
He pointed out that if he'd wanted to do that, he wouldn't have come up to the tower to rescue me. I had to admit this was a valid point.  
  
But then I remembered that Legolas had offered to kiss him a hundred times if he brought me back alive, so I threw that in his face.   
  
Sam said, yes, fine, he still hoped to get the hundred kisses, but if I had any particular objections to being alive, it was fine with him and he'd just go home right now and leave me to take the damned Ring to Mount Doom by myself.  
  
I saw I was overreacting, plus I didn't want to carry all the gear, so I apologized. He apologized too, and we kissed and made up.   
  
But the fact remains we're going to Mount Doom now. And I'm wearing smelly Orc clothes because they stole all my stuff (including my pretty mithril negligee). Also I'm accumulating scrapes and scars and scabs, and I'm all out of lip balm, and I haven't washed my hair for at least a week. I don't have a mirror around, but I have to conclude that I could not possibly be pretty anymore under these conditions.   
  
And that's how I'll die. Ugly and hungry and far away from my beautiful love. Ai, Legolas, if you remember me, remember me as I was. Please don't think of me with this stupid-ass Orc helmet on my head.  
  
* * *   
  
Crazy. Thought for sure we were toast, but here I am in some forest-tent in Ithilien, alive and...I guess I won't say "well," but "alive" is good enough for now.  
  
So, to recap: we're on Mount Doom the other day - Sam claims he had to carry me up the slope, but I'm sure he's just whining and exaggerating - and Gollum shows up out of nowhere and starts doing this really disgusting sucking-on-my-finger thing. I was too weak from starvation to fight him off, but I did manage to kick him in the loincloth once. Perhaps a bad move, with my finger in his mouth. His teeth snapped shut and took my finger AND my pretty Ring over the cliff with him and into the fiery chasm from whence it came. Or at least I think that's what Elrond called it. Oh, well. That took care of that, at least.  
  
However, it appeared the mountain was imploding - something about Sauron's power collapsing in upon itself, I suppose - so Sam and I crawled to the nearest island of rock and were slowly losing consciousness from the lava fumes. Suddenly this eagle - I mean a freaking HUGE eagle - swoops down, and who grabs us but Gandalf? Guess my wise Legolas was right after all: you can't kill those blasted wizards.  
  
Anyway, last thing I remember before passing out was the eagle licking me and Gandalf saying, "I think he finds you pretty, Frodo." Somehow not a surprise anymore.  
  
I just woke up this morning, in this tent in Ithilien, and theoretically Legolas is around here somewhere, but he hasn't come to see me yet. I am trying not to pout over this, but it's really quite vexing, especially since everyone ELSE has come to see me.   
  
Merry and Pippin wouldn't leave for four hours, talking about how I'm still pretty, and how they missed me, and how they got to wear chain mail and fight evil guys, and something about talking trees, and blah-de-blah-de-fucking-blah. Aragorn stopped by and spent a while kissing my hands. How dull. Wanted to ask him if he had molested Legolas in my absence, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise; he was babbling on and on about how good it was to see me again, and how grateful he was, and how much he'd like to demonstrate his gratitude to me. Most alarming. Gandalf, luckily, pulled him out of the tent by force at that point.  
  
Well, I must sign off for now, as Gimli just walked in to say hello. Perhaps I can drag some information about Legolas out of him. We shall see.  
  
* * *  
  
AAARRRGGHHH!  
  
Gimli says he saw Legolas making out with Aragorn in a coat closet in Helm's Deep. I wouldn't have believed him, but he seemed just as upset about it as I was. (Because of course he wants Legolas, too.)   
  
I'm so distraught. I can't stand this. I want to kill someone. I want to die. I can't compete with the bloody King of Gondor, who speaks Elvish even better than me, and is the same height as Legolas, and probably acted all heroic during the battles and everything. Oh, I hate life so much.  
  
Gimli says they don't appear to be a couple. He says Legolas tends to brush off Aragorn or make snippy comments or threaten him with weapons whenever they're near each other. But still...the very idea of the two of them making out...it just shows he got over me awfully fast, and I can't stand it.   
  
So maybe this was a bad idea, but I sent Gimli out just now to find Legolas and bring him to me. I know I'm going to be all drama-queen when I see him, but damn it, I have to talk to him. I have to know. So now I'm sitting here chewing down all ten of my fingernails in torturous anticipation.   
  
Er, make that nine.  
  
* * *  
  
(To be continued...really, I promise.) 


	7. 7 The Glorious Finale

Took me a while to get back to you, dear journal, didn't it? I apologize. Such a busy couple of days I've had. Here's what happened:   
  
An agonizingly long time after I'd sent Gimli out to find Legolas (probably about ten minutes in reality, but it seemed like forever), the tent flaps opened and there he stood: my prince, my lad, my pretty-boy, my heartbreaker. He was more beautiful than ever - probably due to laundry and bathing facilities being available in nearby Minas Tirith - and all I could do was stare for a moment. All he did, in return, was stare back at me; no smile, no frown, no anger, no happiness; just that blasted Elven serenity.  
  
"Well, ask him!" demanded Gimli, who was hovering around his hip. "Ask him about Aragorn! See if he can lie!"  
  
Legolas and I both looked at him.  
  
I found my voice. "I don't suppose you'd leave us, Gimli?" I requested.  
  
"Not till you ask him! I'd like to hear him try to get away with this one! Use his honey-sweet Elf voice on you, he will - he'll charm you like that wretched Saruman does!"  
  
"Master Dwarf," said Legolas. (Ah! his voice! How I missed hearing it.) "Do stop babbling like an idiot, and leave us."  
  
"What will I get if I do?" he leered.  
  
"I'll tell you what you get if you don't," said Legolas, "and it involves my knife, and your beard."  
  
Gimli glared, muttered something in one of those hairball-noise Dwarven languages, and stomped out of the tent.  
  
Legolas and I were left staring at each other. He took a step closer, but still stayed well out of reach. "You have won great renown," he told me, with the politest formality. "Your deeds are being spoken of in all corners of the realm, and soon all of Middle-earth will know your name. You shall surely enter Elven tales as well, and on behalf of my race I wish to offer you my deepest gratitude and admir-"  
  
"Oh, shut up!" I interrupted, in despair. "Why haven't you come to see me?"  
  
"I did see you, when they first rescued you," he said. "You weren't conscious, that's all. You wouldn't remember."  
  
"Is it true about Aragorn?"  
  
"That he has claimed the kingship? Yes."  
  
"Stop it. You know what I mean. Helm's Deep? A coat closet??"  
  
Finally he began to look the tiniest bit sheepish. He folded his hands behind his back and examined a spot on the ground. "It was the dwarf, I suppose, who told you that."  
  
"Well, is it true?"  
  
There was a stretch of silence before he answered. "It is true," he said, "but it was the only time." And then, just as I was about to scream something jealous and bitter at him, he looked at me with a strange flash in his eyes. "You are not the only one who's heard gossip, Frodo. I spoke to Faramir."  
  
"I never touched Faramir," I said, repulsed.  
  
"No, and he's quite dismayed about that. But he says you and Samwise were rolling about together on the forest floor when he found you - not far from here, as a matter of fact."  
  
"But I - you already knew I kissed Sam. You were there when it first happened! You kissed him, too!"  
  
"Not by choice," Legolas pointed out.  
  
"Well, look, I only did it because I couldn't have you. And because I thought I was going to die. It wasn't as if I really enjoyed it."  
  
"Has it ever occurred to you that the same situation held for Aragorn and myself?"   
  
I felt very foolish all of a sudden, for in truth it hadn't occurred to me. I hadn't dared to hope it was so simple. I played with the edge of the bedcovers, and mumbled, "Oh. Well. I...I hear Helm's Deep was indeed a dangerous battle."  
  
"Yes; it's rather a miracle we won." He still sounded defensive.  
  
"Then I suppose I...I could see how you might think it was your last night alive."  
  
"That's exactly what I thought," he said. Then he added, in a more chastened tone, "Though...I imagine it was nothing compared to Mount Doom."  
  
I shrugged, keeping my eyes down. "Mount Doom was no big deal."  
  
"You needn't be modest. You were quite brave and you saved us all." Then he added, almost timidly, "I'm very proud of you."  
  
That brought silly tears to my eyes, I must admit. I looked up at him, and found him gazing longingly at me. At the same moment we both wailed, "I'm sorry!", and in a twinkling he was on the bed with me, wrapping me up in his arms. I clung to him as fiercely as my strength would allow, inhaling the heady scent of cloves and cinnamon and Elven magic.  
  
"I never should have let you go alone," he lamented.  
  
"I missed you so much," I said.  
  
"I thought my heart would fail me and I would fade away."  
  
"I don't know how I survived without you."  
  
"Sweet little Frodo...oh, your poor hand." He found my wounded hand and started kissing it.  
  
"Be careful," I laughed. "Aragorn was doing that earlier."  
  
"Oh, well; I'm already contaminated with his germs, aren't I?" He made a face - a grimace which he then turned into a lovely, mischievous smile.  
  
"You still want me, then?" I asked.  
  
"Dearest, I told you I would. All you had to do was destroy the Ring."  
  
"Oh, ALL I had to do?" I retorted - since, after all, that task was not exactly a matter of strolling down a garden path and flinging a coin into a stream - but I forgot my sarcasm when he hooked an arm around my neck and pulled me into a deep kiss.  
  
It was several minutes before we bothered speaking again, and by that point we were lying side by side with my blankets tangled around us. When he did speak, it was with surprising heat in his voice: "I cannot wait another minute for you," he growled. "It is not like my people to be impatient, but I want you so badly..."  
  
"It is not like my people to be easy, but I'm happy to oblige," I answered, and pushed him onto his back.  
  
So it happened that when Aragorn suddenly walked into the tent a short time later, he found me with my nightshirt pulled up, straddling Legolas with his trousers pulled down, and sliding against him. How very awkward.   
  
I yelped and dived forward; Legolas suavely caught me and held me against his chest, sweeping the sheets up to hide our vital parts. Aragorn, meanwhile, stood there with his mouth hanging open, looking like he was in both extreme pleasure and extreme pain.  
  
"I don't suppose, Aragorn," said Legolas, as polite as you please, "that you could come back in half an hour or so?"  
  
"I...apologize," Aragorn pronounced, with an effort, "but I...wanted to invite you...both...to the coronation, later...is that a hickie, dear Frodo, or a bruise?"  
  
I tried to see the spot on my collarbone he was staring at, but it was at an awkward angle for my eyes. "Could be either," I mused.  
  
Legolas studied it for a moment, then gave it a quick kiss. "Not a bruise, I wager."   
  
Aragorn had tilted his face as if to get a better look at things, but now he briskly shook his head and stepped back. "I suppose, then...if you don't require my services..."   
  
His "services"? Ew.  
  
"No, we'd much rather do this without your services," Legolas answered.  
  
"Right." Aragorn bowed, and moved toward the tent flaps, then paused and turned to us again. "Actually - you know - as king of the realm, I do believe I have certain privileges, and when I tell you that I wish to stand here and watch..."  
  
"Your Majesty," Legolas cut in, a little more sharply.   
  
"Really, Strider," I added. "What would the Queen say?"  
  
"I daresay she'd ask whether she could watch, too," Legolas muttered, and we both giggled.  
  
"Fine," sighed Aragorn. Then he stood up straight, and looked almost royal for a moment. "But, my friends, what I have already seen will shine a light on my thoughts for all my days. And for that I thank you."  
  
"Most poetically spoken," said Legolas. The words oozed sarcasm, but I'm not sure Aragorn noticed.  
  
"As you leave, please, could you put a guard outside the tent?" I requested.  
  
"Preferably a straight male or a lesbian," Legolas added.  
  
"I will do what I can," said Aragorn, "but I must tell you: ever since they laid eyes upon the pair of you, I do not think there are many men left in my army who are entirely straight."  
  
Well, he finally left, and frankly I don't have any idea whether there were new guards installed outside or not. Legolas and I resumed what we had been doing, and got carried away, and, I daresay, would not have stopped again even if Sauron himself had walked in swinging the Ring on a diamond watch-chain.  
  
Afterward, we fell asleep together in my little bed - Legolas had to curl up on his side to keep his feet from dangling off the end - and had a lovely afternoon nap. We were rudely awakened by Samwise, who was apparently now up and dressed. I opened my eyes to find him sitting with us on the bed, thoughtfully gazing at my Elven lover, whose blond tresses were splashed across the pillow in gorgeous disarray.  
  
"Sam, what are you doing here?" I complained.  
  
My voice awakened Legolas, who turned and frowned at Sam as well.  
  
"Awaiting my hundred kisses," he said, and folded his arms patiently. "At your leisure, Mr. Legolas, sir."  
  
Legolas groaned, sat up, took Sam's waistcoat in one hand, and pulled him forward for a brief, imprecise kiss. Then he let go of him (Sam fell over on the covers) and said, "There. Ninety-nine to go. We'll talk later."  
  
* * *  
  
Hrrrmf. I thought life would get easier now that the Ring has been destroyed. I mean, sure, don't get me wrong, life right now is certainly an improvement over starving to death in an Orc uniform in Mordor. But I sort of thought everyone would get over me, once I got rid of the Ring and its dark alluring powers.   
  
I see now that I was mistaken. And poor Legolas has it just as bad. Because now, you see, we're famous and everyone loves us. Great. Just what we needed.  
  
We are in the largest city in Middle-earth, home to twenty thousand citizens, and it seems every last one of them is stalking either me or my boyfriend. Everywhere we go, men and women alike start yelling, "All hail the Ringbearer! Wow, I heard he was cute but I didn't know they meant CUTE!" and "Three cheers for the Elven archer, comrade to King Elessar! DAMN, you're hot!" Charming, Gondorians, really charming. I see now where Boromir got his subtlety. Legolas and I have taken to wearing our swords around Minas Tirith, to ward off the mobs.   
  
And it's not like our friends, the old Fellowship, are any better. They're all in a celebrating mood, and you know what THAT means. "Oh, Legolas? Oh, Frodo? Come play Spin-the-Flask with us! Come play Strip Poker with us! Come play Hide-the-Star-Glass with us!" It's so depraved, I can't begin to tell you.  
  
Meanwhile, Sam interrupts us at least five times a day to claim his kisses. The debt is now down to 67. He likes to do this in public places where a lot of people can see him and envy him. Poor Legolas is getting quite the reputation as a swinging hobbit-fancier.  
  
We are thinking of running away together, my Elf and me. We've got to get away from the others. I mean, for heaven's sake, I agreed to do the quest thing; I didn't agree to spend my whole bloody life with these people.   
  
* * *  
  
We left Minas Tirith; yay! But we're traveling with about sixty people - boooo.  
  
At least we lost the Ithilien/Rohan contingent today. We came to a crossroads where they had to separate from us, and everyone spent about three hours hugging and crying and giving each other gifts. Really lame, considering they only live a four-days'-ride apart.   
  
Eomer, Faramir, and Eowyn insisted upon giving Legolas and me big goodbye hugs. Eowyn even kissed us, under the pretext of a princess giving a royal farewell to her knights, but somehow I don't think a princess is supposed to squeeze a knight's arse and slip him the tongue while she kisses him. Got to say, though, it was more pleasant than getting my face scrubbed raw by Eomer and Faramir's beards when THEY hugged me. Yuck. And I don't even want to know whether that was the hilt of a dagger under Faramir's tunic, or what exactly.  
  
Gimli and Gandalf have left us, too. Had to watch them run their hands over Legolas's thighs one last time, when they hugged him. I saw a knife flash at his wrist both times, but he apparently restrained himself, because neither of them screamed or ended up limping. He can be so patient and kind when he wants to be.  
  
In another day or two, apparently, we say goodbye to Aragorn. Expect lots of kingly slobber to contaminate the next entry. Blah.   
  
Number of kisses Legolas owes Sam: 38. I think even Sam is getting bored. He looked jealous about the Eowyn-arse-grab thing - jealous that he didn't get to kiss her too, that is. I think he was just one of those BUQIO's. (You know: 'Bisexual Until Quest Is Over.')  
  
Anyway, think I'll go rinse the taste of Rohan-woman out of my mouth by luring Legolas into the shrubbery and asking if I might have a nibble of that underpants-leaf. Mmmm...underpants...  
  
* * *  
  
Yes, Aragorn tongued us both goodbye. The less said about that, the better. He also promised to come out to the Shire every year and visit. Oh, great. I'm really thinking I'll have to move fairly soon, and not give anyone my new address.  
  
Except of course Legolas. As it happens, we'll have to be apart for a few days. I'm very peeved about this, but he says that if he wants to run away with me, it would be best to go home to Mirkwood first and let his mom and dad know. Although I'll miss him, he had the most exciting suggestion: maybe we could hop the ship to Valinor! Now THAT would get us away from everyone.  
  
Well, I'll try not to get my hopes up. And I'll try to be happy for Legolas even while I miss him, because he seems excited to see his family again. Apparently it's been a century or so. I guess when you're immortal that's normal, but MY family would sure consider it rude.   
  
Incidentally, Legolas owes Sam 14 more kisses.   
  
* * *  
  
It's been an eventful couple of weeks. I am, finally, back in Bag End and have kicked out the squatters who had taken over the place. Can you believe they put orange and yellow macrame rugs on the floors, and lava oil-lamps on the walls? I mean, what year did they think this was? S.R. 1394? Some hobbits have no taste.  
  
I missed Legolas very much for the five days we were apart - plus, I constantly had to fight off Merry and Pippin, who kept clamoring at my door for a three-way - but the time passed quickly enough, with redecorating and whatnot.  
  
Then last night, at nearly midnight, there was a brisk knock at my front door. And when I opened it, who stormed in but Legolas! He had to duck, of course, and walk around hunched over to avoid hitting the rafters, but even that he did with grace, as he does everything. I tried to embrace him in greeting, but he was clearly in the blackest mood. He made me shut the door, and he just paced around, sniffling and angrily wiping rain off his cheeks.   
  
Then I realized with astonishment that it wasn't rain - he was actually crying.  
  
"My dear, what is it?" I asked.  
  
"The least they could do is tell me," he said, somewhat incoherently.  
  
"Who? What? Please, sit down." I caught his arm and guided him to the table, and sat him down. I kissed his fingers, which were damp and cool from the night ride, and looked up at his beautiful face, no less beautiful even when his eyes were swollen from tears. "I've never seen you cry before," I said.  
  
He shot me a knife-edged look. "That's because I usually KILL anyone who sees me cry."  
  
"Oh. Well, I value your trust, and I hope I live through the night."  
  
He bowed his head, nodded, and kissed my hands.   
  
"Now, what's wrong?" I asked. "Did you see your parents? Do they disapprove?"  
  
He tugged a crumpled piece of parchment from inside his shirt, and pushed it at me. "I go home to Mirkwood, the whole place is abandoned, and THIS is thumbtacked to the front gate."  
  
Slowly I translated the Sindarin aloud: "Dear Legolas: We're off to the Grey Havens. We hear you did a good job in Mordor. Nice work, honey! We're proud. But, we do not feel like hanging around to see the new world order imposed by this Elessar fellow. We've heard he is something of a whore. Anyway, we're too old for change. Sorry we didn't wait for you. See you in Valinor someday, maybe. Love, Mom and Dad."  
  
I set down the note and touched Legolas's cheek in sympathy. "Oh, you poor thing. You wanted to see them so much..."  
  
"They abandoned me. I can't believe this. Have you any idea what kind of betrayal this is, among our kind? To go to the Grey Havens without properly saying goodbye to your kin? To see your childhood home deserted, empty?"  
  
"Try seeing your living room done up in orange and yellow," I sighed. When he gave me a confused glance, I quickly added, "Never mind. My dear, I'm very sorry. I don't have your life experience, or anywhere near it, but I did get orphaned when I was just a lad. I think I understand, and I feel for you."  
  
He pulled me onto his lap, and rested his forehead in my hair. "I suppose I'm being very spoiled and childish," he said.  
  
"Not at all," I told him. Then I squeezed his hands and reminded him, "You know, this is quite easy to solve."  
  
"How?"  
  
"We go across the sea and find them."  
  
Legolas lifted his head and stared into my eyes. "You'd do that?"  
  
"Elrond said I could. Since I was a Ringbearer, and all."  
  
"But - you'd leave your friends, and your home? Forever?"  
  
I grimaced. "Oh, please. I'm sick of these people. And now that I'm famous they won't give me a moment's peace. Leaving Middle-earth with you sounds like the best idea anyone's suggested in years."  
  
He held my hands tightly, still staring at me. "Are you sure, completely sure? You can't go back, you know; it's a one-way boat."  
  
"What; they're accumulating boats over there?" I laughed. He didn't seem to get the joke, so I moved along and answered his question: "Yes. I am sure."  
  
And he hugged me, and started to kiss me, and shortly thereafter swept the bread knife and the apples off the table and pressed me down onto it, and by the way, he does the most interesting thing with jam...but I needn't tell you about THAT.   
  
Valinor! Can you believe it?   
  
* * *  
  
Bye-bye, Shire! We're on the ship, Legolas and Bilbo and Elrond and Galadriel and me - oh, and Gandalf, unfortunately, who is taking advantage of my momentary distraction by trying to tickle Legolas with his pipe as I write this - but think of it! Merry and Pippin will never grope me again, after that last fondle they gave me on the pier! Faramir and Eomer will never hug us and press their manly bits against us again! We even got away without having to see Aragorn, who surely would have kissed us in the most disgusting way.  
  
And Sam - well, when we were at the Grey Havens, I willingly gave Sam a kiss goodbye. He was a good boy and went and got married, after all, and I do trust him enough to give him Bag End, and I know he won't do it up in tacky colors in my absence. Legolas then stepped in, gallantly, to offer Sam his last five kisses - for that was the score he owed.  
  
Sam kissed Legolas four times, then moved back.   
  
"Don't you want the last one?" Legolas asked.  
  
"Not just yet," said Sam, with a strange little smile. "I'll be coming over to claim it someday, though."  
  
Legolas sighed and looked pleadingly at Elrond, but Elrond had to admit that since Sam, also, had been a Ringbearer, he had the right to come to Valinor if he wanted to. Chances are it'll be fifty or sixty years, though, so we get a pretty good honeymoon out of this deal.  
  
Thus, in the end, as you see, we are still not entirely free of our stalkers. And there's always the odd chance that the Valar will take a fancy to one (or both) of us. Heaven forbid! I mean, how are we supposed to politely say "no" to THEM?   
  
But that's a trouble for another day.  
  
Strangely, I think I'll miss my old molesters. But then I remind myself that I'm headed for the land of undying Elven undergarments, and how can I do anything but smile?  
  
* * *  
  
(THE END.)  
  
(Really! The end! That's it; go home!) 


End file.
